


Catch a falling star

by Lizzen



Category: Alien 3 (1992), Aliens (1986), Prometheus (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark, F/M, Yuletide 2012
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 20:04:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzen/pseuds/Lizzen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alien3 AU – Sometimes family is all you have left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catch a falling star

**Author's Note:**

  * For [20thcenturyvole](https://archiveofourown.org/users/20thcenturyvole/gifts).



> I am indebted to my dearest betas, you know who you are. xoxo
> 
> It is not necessary to have seen Prometheus to read this fic. David is just one of the lengthier Alien franchise easter eggs nestled in this fic.

REPORT TO NETWORK FROM USS SULACO  
DROPSHIP MARK 02 RETURN TO BASE; RADIOACTIVE MATERIAL DETECTED  
FOUR LIFEFORMS ON BOARD; ONE UNIDENTIFIED SPECIES (ALERT)  
SYNTHETIC ONLINE  
.  
THREE LIFEFORMS ON BOARD  
SYNTHETIC OFFLINE  
.  
USS SULACO DISCONNECTED FROM NETWORK  
.  
.  
.  
EMERGENCY ALERT  
BEGIN SEARCH AND RESCUE

*  
He dreams about his sister.

Libby joined the corps as soon as she moved out (mom and dad were saving the college funds for him) and she died three years later near Triton. After the funeral, he quit his internship with the company and joined up.

Dwayne still misses her; she’s an ache in his chest that will never go away.

His dreams follow a cycle, vicious and bright. He will forget them later, except that sometimes, sometimes it’s her face, her voice calling to him, as Hudson dissolves into a mass of monsters under the floorboards. “Give them hell,” she tells him before she is taken, her skin scarlet with acid burns.

-  
Pain wakes him and he groans out something incoherent. He’s lived through worse, but he’s groggy from hypersleep. There are hands on his chest and someone says with an unnatural calm: “Singh, dear, would you mind increasing his morphine?”

A prick at his arm and Dwayne can finally focus in the brief equilibrium between pain and oblivion: there’s a doctor peering at him. “You’re safe, Corporal.” The doctor is handsome; so handsome that it's almost unsettling to look at him. Dwayne thinks briefly of the pin ups in Wierzbowski’s locker, of holos he watched back home. “You’re safe.” The doctor’s mouth widens into a smile that is all teeth.

Sleep, and darkness.

-  
Libby is in uniform, her mouth tight like Vasquez. “Brother,” she keeps saying, her arms outstretched. He can never quite reach her fingertips.

He opens his eyes. His burned skin aches, but the pain is less.

“Brother,” the doctor says. “Wake up.” Dwayne twists his head to look (it hurts and the bandages bunch up). The doctor is peering over another patient, fiddling with equipment.

A visceral, terrible gurgle emerges from where the doctor is. The noise is horrible, nightmarish, and unmistakably the sound of a broken synthetic.

The United States Colonial Marines deal with a lot of Bishops, and Dwayne’s lost a few. Weyland Yutani was always happy to resupply with a fresh one from the factory; they all have the same incredible performance, dogged work ethic, and sad little smile.

No Bishop, however, had saved his life until LV 426.

The awful gurgling becomes a word, and the dying Bishop on the table elongates his vowels as he says, “Weyland,” like a curse. The doctor forcefully pulls out the power line and the noises die down to nothing.

The doctor says, “Well.” His hands are covered in milky fluid and he looks for a towel.

Heart in his mouth, Dwayne holds as still as he can till sleep takes him again.

-  
This time he wakes up to a pressure in his hand, a small gentle thing squeezing his skin. He opens his eyes to see a mass of blonde hair and two wide eyes.

“Hey kid,” he says.

Newt smiles so bright, his heart could burst. (He dreamed of a child screaming, drowning; lost.)

“Thought you were a goner,” she whispers.

He mirrors her smile. “Likewise.”

She looks clean, healthy, and tentative. “Mom’s with the captain,” Newt says quietly. Dwayne looks at her, calculates. Ann Jorden is dust on a toxic planet now. At the narrowing of his eyes, she squeezes his hand tighter.

He takes in his surroundings. It’s not the Sulaco, not any military facility he’s aware of; perhaps Weyland Yutani, maybe Gateway. He considers his fate (reassignment, desk job, court martial, or prison), the oncoming judgment by his betters, by those who sent him and his team to death.

“Ah, Corporal Hicks. You’re awake.” The doctor is standing at the door. Newt favors him with a grin. “Welcome to the Harfleur. I’m Dr. Shaw.”

Corps training runs deep into the blood, so Dwayne knows he’s in no position to ask too many questions. Physically, he feels right as rain, so the doctor must be worth his salt. “Am I good as new?”

Dr. Shaw raises his eyebrows. “A qualified yes. You’ll never be as pretty as you were before.”

Newt giggles.

-  
Pretty or not, when Ellen sees him, she cups his face in her hands and her eyes are soft. He’s surprised by the intimacy in the gesture but figures they’re play-acting one big happy family. He relaxes into the embrace and guiltily wonders what her mouth will taste like.

She kisses his healing cheek, and her eyes never close. “Little rough around the edges, aren’t you, little brother?”

He nods, it’s a sensible, safe cover. “If dad could see us now.” He pulls her in close and she winces when he squeezes tight. Broken ribs take time to heal. He figures there must have been some price to rescuing Newt.

She pulls away from him, but her hands linger on his skin. He thinks: Hell of a woman. He thinks: I’ll follow her anywhere.

*  
REPORT TO NETWORK FROM USS MAISON  
LV 426 COLONY VAPORIZED IN EXPLOSION  
SUSPECT XENOMORPH ON BOARD THE SULACO, POTENTIALLY DEAD  
CONTINUE SEARCH?  
.  
NETWORK TO USS MAISON  
ACKNOWLEDGED  
SEARCH PRIORITY ONE

*  
Dwayne gets a good look at the whole operation and grimaces. They were picked up by scavengers, pirates; good ones too. How they broke through the Sulaco’s defense system and were polite enough to read Ellen’s SOS, he’ll never understand. (Later, the captain admits that Dr. Shaw played a crucial role in the break in, and all decisions of mercy.)

He leans in close to Ellen, mouth at her ear. “Who are these people?”

She gives him a look and her gaze is so hard, he flinches. “You don’t think we’re the only ones that the company fucked over?”

-  
Colonial Administration never really considered the fringes to be a real threat, but the Harfleur’s a good little ship, well-armed, well-staffed, and apparently part of an independent fleet.

The captain of the merry little band is a no-nonsense ex-Union soldier named Marla Singh. She’s taken to Ellen (Dwayne isn’t surprised), but appears to be a little wary of Newt’s inclusion in the short list of LV 426’s survivors.

Ellen and Newt play the role of mother and daughter, capable actors aware of high stakes. But even Dwayne notices how something’s slightly off. They cling too tight and watch each other’s backs like the Harfleur’s a warzone. Dwayne’s seen this before; Vasquez and Drake were inseparable, an unshakeable unit. Something must have happened on the planet, on the Sulaco, while he was submerged in morphine and exhaustion.

If he’s being honest with himself, he’s a little jealous of Newt.

To Singh and her crew, Ellen left out many elements of their story. Openly saying they’re not kidnappers would probably damn them further. But Singh is smart, and knows which questions not to ask. After all, she’s coming out of this rescue with quite a prize for her efforts.

-  
The USS Sulaco is enormous; a cavernous tomb in space. Even before they lost Burke and the colonial marines special ops unit, they were sailing the stars with a skeleton crew. The company didn't want to waste resources on a so-called rescue mission.

The Sulaco can fit over a hundred civilians or a standing army, awake; it can house 2,000 souls in hibernation sleep. It has seven dropships and three assault shuttles. There’s long range ASAT missiles, neural particle beam weapons, two twin turrets of kinetic energy railguns, not to mention fragmentation mines and drones. Combined, it has more than enough firepower to level a planet from orbit, and the raw material within its walls could make a scavenger very, very rich.

“Use it, strip it, whatever you want,” Ellen says evenly. “It’s all yours.”

-  
The three of them sleep in the same tiny room. Newt and Ellen in the bed; Dwayne in a cot next to them. It’s more than cozy, but they don’t care. When you share the same nightmares, it’s best to wake up to a sympathetic face.

The Harfleur crew doesn’t ask, it’s not their business; but they do keep an eye on them.

“Why call me your brother?” he asks her, after weeks of flawlessly playing the role. He gestures to the cot, to the locked door. “Wouldn’t boyfriend have been easier?”

For the first time since he’s known her, Ellen looks embarrassed. He immediately regrets the question. She looks him in the eye at last. “I didn’t want to presume.”

He hopes, he hopes she can't hear how hard his heart is beating in his chest.

-  
Years ago, Dwayne swore an oath to be faithful to the constitution of the United States and its colonies. He remembers the brochure his enlisting officer thrust in his hand; it said “becoming a colonial marine is a transformation that cannot be undone.”

But, somehow, providing a bunch of illegals with the Sulaco’s codes and showing them all the sweet spots in the vessel doesn’t make his blood run cold or his skin prickle with shame. They didn’t send him and his team to die on that planet. They sewed him up, fed him, kept questions to a minimum. They respect Ellen, and they are kind to Newt. Dwayne realizes they’re all in danger of being fully absorbed into Singh’s crew.

There are worse fates.

-  
“Do you want to go back to Earth?” Ellen asks him and Newt, as if it’s immediately in her power to waltz them there, provide them with a hearth and home, ignore the very real nightmares of their lives.

It’s a sincere question, he’s sure, but he laughs in response. “Why would we go back, unless to turn ourselves in?” There's nothing, no one waiting for him there but the corps.

Newt is solemn as she nods her head in agreement.

He doesn’t say what he’s sure Ellen knows: there’s a lot the Colonial Administration and Weyland Yutani would do to them. Chiefly, Bishop would be immediately scrapped. Then, they would whisk Newt away, probably condition her in reparative therapy, find her living relatives or a foster home. Ellen may be a peerless survivor of unspeakable monsters; but even she would be powerless against bureaucracy.

“Do you want to return to Earth?” he asks, curious. There’s a lot about Ellen Ripley that he doesn’t know. She could have scores of family, credits, resources on good old terra firma. 

Ellen shrugs, seemingly indifferent. “I hear it’s a shithole.”

Dwayne gives her a wolfish grin while Newt looks scandalized.

“It’s settled then.” Ellen’s smile is for Newt, but he can tell she’s relieved. “Piracy is our only option.”

Newt pipes up. “Plus, we can’t go anywhere until Bishop’s okay.”

-  
Three weeks since their rescue and Dr. Shaw gives them his final verdict.

“The synthetic can’t be fixed. I don’t have the equipment, or the parts.” As an afterthought, he adds: “I’m sorry.”

Ellen grimaces.

Dr. Shaw gives a vague smile. “Even if I could rework him, he’d never be top of the line again. If I were him, I'd rather be nothing."

(Dwayne often finds the good doctor is in medlab, quietly sitting next to Bishop’s remaining half. It reminds Dwayne of a wake, perhaps.)

*  
REPORT TO NETWORK FROM USS MAISON  
SULACO FOUND; STRIPPED, UNABLE TO REPAIR  
NO SIGN OF XENOMORPH OR SYNTHETIC ON BOARD  
DNA CONFIRM POTENTIAL SURVIVOR LT. ELLEN RIPLEY, EMPLOYEE  
DNA CONFIRM POTENTIAL SURVIVOR CPL. DWAYNE HICKS, COLONIAL MARINE  
DNA CONFIRM POTENTIAL SURVIVOR REBECCA JORDEN, COLONIAL CITIZEN  
CONTACT REWARD WIRE

*  
Dr. Shaw corners them, Singh is a step behind him and looking more intrigued than grim, considering the news.

-You’re on Reward Wire.  
-Ripley, the company considers you a priority.  
-Dead or alive.  
-More credits than I can possibly dream of, worth more than a stolen assault ship. I could retire.  
-What did you do.

Ellen takes a deep breath. “Might as well tell you.”

-  
There are very few details she leaves out, and there are parts of the story that Dwayne is finding out for the first time. The echo of screams in his ears will never stop, but Ellen’s been living in this nightmare longer than anyone.

After, Dr. Shaw is silent, his face inscrutable, and he twists his hands in his lap.

-  
In the morning, Dr. Shaw is missing, and Bishop is in the mess hall, pressing the palm of his new hand to the table. He’s stitched together marvelously, an uncanny blend of new and old tech.

“His real name was David, and he was very, very tired of living,” Bishop tells Dwayne later, after the fuss dies down.

Newt finds him first, and sits quietly with him. It takes a lot to unsettle her now, and Bishop saved her life. Loyalty is etched into her tiny bones.

\--  
In the end, what had existed as David powered off and Bishop finished the final sutures, recalibrating the operating system to work as his own. His fingers shook, initially. The mechanical meld ensured that Bishop, a Hyperdyne 127-B/5 model, would run faster, more efficiently, and for a longer lifespan. The David models were a menace, but they were built to last. 

When Yutani joined the company, the research dollars moved from lifespan and mechanical parts to figuring out how a robot could seamlessly integrate with humanity. Asimov's laws were a fascination; as was the commodification of the soul. "I don’t care if they last, I care if _they_ care," was the edict.

Despite how much Bishop expects it, aches for it, no fragment of David ghosts the system. Only his memory banks, and all of their disturbing contents, remain.

\--  
Soon after, Bishop bears David’s final confession: “You should know that we synthetics are not immune to shame.”

-  
Singh admits to having found Dr. Shaw ("David", Bishop interjects) outside of the frontier, crazy as shit but graceful under pressure. In a desperate pinch, they made him ship's doctor and he grew into the role as if built for it. “We had no idea he was a synthetic.”

Dwayne says, “Artificial person.” He can see Bishop’s mouth turn up with a small, grateful smile.

Singh’s eyes are narrowed, and she’s careful as she asks something that hadn’t even occurred to Dwayne: “Was there ever actually a real Dr. Shaw?”

Bishop clenches his new hand tight. The answer is already on his face by the time he replies, “A long time ago.”

Ellen crosses her arms. “Well, captain, you lost one, and gained four.”

Singh sizes her up. “It’ll be dangerous.”

It’s a strange bitter laugh that comes from all four survivors, and Bishop’s smile is all teeth. “We can handle dangerous."

-  
The transition is seamless; they each earn their keep quickly. Even Newt fits in, finding her place with the crew (the ship engineer swears like a sailor but is a good teacher to a willing apprentice).

Bishop, naturally, reprises his brother’s role, making the medical bay his home and his laboratory. He takes on a project that should gain them further notoriety and an incredible source of information: hacking the network. While the crew sleeps, he researches the second gen synthetic blueprints coming out of a small terran-based corporation (Walton Corp is too small to be even considered a competitor to Weyland Yutani, but their ideas are new, and their science ingenious). Their designs include a wireless link between a synthetic and the network. Bishop considers this his best chance at hacking in, seeing what the company sees.

Ripley leads negotiations on the business side of things; Singh is happy to sit back and play good cop (“I’m getting too old for this dance anyway”). It doesn’t take long for colonists, other ships, and the occasional corrupt official to give way to Ellen’s terms; after all, she deals fair and honest. (Ellen tells him, “Funny when the stakes aren’t exactly life and death, assholes listen to what I say.”)

Often, Dwayne accompanies her as armed backup. It’s a smooth, easy partnership, especially when things go south (he has a pulse rifle strapped to his back to hand her at any moment). Newt has carefully painted his armor a slick black like the alien’s face; he looks a sight with his burnt face and fierce silence. He often wonders about Ellen's story of the alien nest, of the guardians who protected their elephantine queen. Devotion runs in their DNA, he supposes. His fealty was earned.

Newt often curls up with him when Ellen’s on duty and with the work to keep their hands busy and minds sharp, nightmares are few and far between. It’s not a bad existence, playing baby brother, overprotective uncle, brave little fugitive, cunning space pirate. Libby would laugh herself sick.

(He's not at all fond of how various and sundry continue to ask him advice on how best to court Ellen.)

-  
Ellen made one stipulation to Singh early on, and they all know it may result in their deaths.

Every contact, every competitor, every person who will listen to them is given a briefing about the alien. Response varies (and some business is irrevocably lost), but they all sleep better at night. Fear is a palpable, horrific thing; but it’s best to know your enemy.

A petty official on a backwater prison planet scoffs at them. “Let me see if I have this correct. It's an eight foot creature of some kind with acid for blood. It kills on sight, and is generally unpleasant. And of course, you expect me to accept all this on your word.”

Ellen doesn’t even flinch. The man is no Van Leuwen. “No. I don't expect anything. We only recommend you invest in flame throwers.”

*  
REPORT FROM FIORINA 161 TO NETWORK  
REQUEST FLAME THROWERS IN NEXT SUPPLY RUN

*  
Ellen shakes him awake soon after the prison planet, newly awakened from a nightmare. “Do you mind?” she says and he has no idea what she’s asking until she reaches out with her hands.

It’s a struggle, they barely all fit and Newt grumbles in her sleep, but soon they’re all nestled together, cocooned in Ellen’s arms. Ellen’s breathing fast, and her grip on him is so tight, he will bruise.

He can barely see her face in the darkness, but her eyes are locked on his, mad with grief. She waits until Newt slumps her head to the side, deep in the deafness of sleep.

Her fingernails tear at his skin. “I dreamed you both died. I woke up on that terrible planet and you two had died.”

There are things he knows: their nightmares all feature death, but always as a result of the alien or the company or sometimes Burke. This nightmare of hers seems different somehow. His heart is beating so hard that he can’t think clearly at all, can’t form a response.

“I can’t lose you,” she says. “Either of you.”

He presses his face against her neck and breathes in and out, hoping the sound and the feel of it will calm her. He can’t promise her they’ll survive; their nightmares are based in fact, their enemies are real. But he can be still, he can be steady.

“I miss Jonesy,” she says at last.

His eyes open. “Boyfriend?”

“Cat.”

They each try hard, they really try hard to stifle a choking, full body laugh, but it’s too late. Newt wakes up with a start and shouts a very rude word she learned in the engine room. Ellen laughs harder, and tickles the little girl till they’re all laughing, and laughing, driving the darkness away.

-  
Dwayne joins Bishop on a supply run for second gen parts ("let's be honest, Hicks, this is a heist"). Despite their best efforts, the mission goes sideways, and the two of them get stuck in a room full of old, broken Hyperdyne 120-A/2 models. 

"Twitchy," is all Bishop says, looking distraught. A morgue is never pleasant.

Rescue is an hour out and they're in no immediate danger, so Dwayne tries to distract him with questions.

Bishop tells him about how much he misses his kind, the voices of his brothers and sisters.  
Bishop tells him about things he has seen in the nebulas, colors unlike anything seen on Earth.  
Bishop tells him about how easy it was to reprogram himself to follow Ellen’s orders.

“Have you ever been in love?” Dwayne immediately feels foolish for asking; not that he doesn’t doubt Bishop, but that it’s a deeply personal question.

Bishop’s mouth tightens. "Not personally, no." (Bishop never tells anyone this: David’s memory banks were undamaged, and every feeling categorized. There was once a monster's mother, a survivor, a force of will. Weyland's son had little option but to love her.) “You know, Dwayne, one of these days, you should tell her. Life is short, for a human.”

Dwayne blinks. “Tell her what?”

Bishop smiles, looks away.

Dwayne is sure that one of the A/2s is moving, but paranoia is just a dark river in his bloodstream. The corps teaches a lot about synthetics. A marine knows when to mend them or when to trash them; what they’re capable of, and where a line is drawn. They’re integral to the team; they’re trustworthy to a fault; they’re endlessly replaceable. 

“Don’t worry. They’re all dead,” Bishop says. It’s not all comforting.

Silence is followed by something even less comforting: “You know, David thought he didn’t have a soul. He was sure of it.”

Dwayne leans back. "What do you think?"

Bishop recoils, looking so hurt that Dwayne feels a strong urge to fidget with his sleeve. "I didn't mean—"

"Yes,” Bishop interrupts. “I think he had a soul.”

Dwayne shivers, doesn’t know what to say. Frankly, given his training, given the number of synthetics he’s lost in the field, he’s not really thought about a robot having a soul.

They both jump when the door blows, a loud crashing sound that sends most of the A/2s into a further state of disorder. Ellen stands in the smoking rubble with her pulse rifle resting on her hip.

"Oh god, I wish I brought my flame thrower," she says, looking around the room. "Come on, boys.”

-  
They pick up two passengers on LV 399; a young, handsome couple, pleasant enough, looking for a better life on a neighboring colony. Ellen thinks they’re too quiet, but then, they’ve all benefited from Singh’s lack of paranoia.

And Newt finds them charming, friendly. Dwayne catches them singing a duet to her in the mess. It’s an old terran song, and the singers are obviously well trained. The tenor has his arm around the baritone when they finish and they bow with an exaggerated flourish. “Another, another!” Newt calls, looking happier than Dwayne has ever seen her. There’s little chance for Rebecca Jorden to be a kid anymore, so when the couple see him and hesitate, Dwayne gestures politely that they continue. Newt beams, bright as the sun.

In deep space, two days later, it’s a bloodbath. The songbirds have teeth, it turns out.

Dwayne's almost too late to the firefight, but arriving late gives him the element of surprise. There is no hesitation in his aim or purpose when he shoots one in the head and keeps the other alive enough for interrogation. (“Weyland Yutani should hire better assassins,” Ellen growls afterwards.)

In the head count of survivors, they find Singh worse for wear. Dwayne carries her to medlab (his hands are covered in blood by the end). “You and Ripley. You’re not actually brother and sister, are you?” she asks quietly, with a smile. A blush blossoms on Dwayne’s ashen face.

"Captain, you trust people too much."

She shakes her head. "The company really did a number on your head, Hicks."

-  
Ellen’s fists are bloody and broken, and she leans in close with her mouth against Dwayne’s neck. Her breathing is uneven, but she tells him what she found out. The Jorden family apparently has deep pockets; they want their niece back as much as the company wants Ellen’s silence.

He holds her closer to him, his fingers digging in tight. He tells her that Singh is half dead on Bishop’s table. Three crew dead in hallways; five more were wounded, but would mend.

Newt, of course, is fine. She is accustomed to monsters.

-  
They jettison the dead and their prisoner near Triton. Dwayne thinks faintly of Libby; wonders what remains of a corpse in the empty silence of space.

-  
In medlab, Singh wins out against fate, against the odds. She wakes and is whole, but she’s never going to be in fighting shape again. 

Singh looks from Bishop’s medscreen to Ellen, looking weak but strangely relieved. “I’m done, Ellen. The ship is yours. Time for me to go home.” Singh has a husband on Alpha Five; he’s a geneticist and may be able to help her more than Bishop can. 

“I never meant for this to happen.” Ellen holds tight to Singh’s hand. “I’m so sorry.”

The woman gives her a smile, gives Dwayne a wink. “Do me a favor, then, and _give them hell_.”

-  
The crew doesn’t mind the change in captain; some people don’t question good leadership, and this recent adventure has raised their blood lust.

Ellen aims to grow the fleet, consolidate resources. There's serious profit in arming the independent colonies and gathering intelligence on the company's bioweapons division.

After all, they're not the only ones the company has fucked over.

*  
NETWORK TO HQ - INTEL UNIT - CLASS AA  
XENOMORPH FOUND  
COORDINATES 828485 MARK 16  
PRIORITY ONE  
ALL OTHER PRIORITIES RESCINDED

*  
He denies himself most luxuries, but does enjoy a long shower. Hot water is sometimes more precious than credits in space. So, when she comes in the room, he's still in his towel, searching for a fresh pair of pants with his spare hand. He doesn't even look up. "Newt's asleep in medlab, didn't have the heart to move her."

She turns the lock in door. "I know."

There's something in her voice that makes him look up, and suddenly he feels the wind knocked out of him.

She looks—, he doesn't even know how to define how she's looking at him. All he knows is how his body reacts (a betrayal, but he's only human). They've always been in various states of undress around each other; but he feels naked now.

"So, I told them I wasn't your sister." It's an odd opening line, but he accepts it, and aches with hope.

She approaches him slowly, as if he'd run away (never, not in a million years). "You never made a move," she says.

He blinks.

"And you chased away anyone who would."

He keeps his gaze as steady as he can. "That sounds about right."

"So, here's the thing—" she starts, close enough now that he can feel her breath on his face. "I'm going to kiss you, unless you have any objections."

Dwayne blinks. Ellen has always been very direct (but then, she's been out here in space a very long time). He stares at her lips before looking back up at her eyes. "No, ma'am."

After, she traces her finger along the periphery of the scars laced across his chest. He was burned (deep, lasting; alien blood doesn't fuck around) while protecting her on LV 426; and he would do it again, and again, until his body was in pieces. His fealty was earned.

*  
REPORT TO HQ FROM MARS BASE - INTEL UNIT - CLASS A  
PACKAGE ARRIVED, FROZEN  
HAVE TAKEN SAMPLES FOR STUDY  
SEND PACKAGE TO EARTH?  
.  
HQ PRIORITY MESSAGE  
AFFIRMATIVE  
STANDARD PRECAUTIONS

-  
The console beeps, and scrambled numbers and letters appear in neat succession. 

Ellen leans in, her face level with the screen as if that will help translate the message. "How close are you?" she asks Bishop.

"Soon," Bishop promises.

Dwayne remembers his fair share of orders that came from the network. "I'm afraid of what it says."

She doesn't move. "I'm afraid of what we may have to do."

-  
After a visit to Callista, Dwayne has a sleepless night followed by chest pains and a sticky black bile in his throat. He confesses his symptoms immediately, knowing that it should mean a bullet in his brain. Fear leeches any rational sense left in him; he has no memory of implantation, but memory can betray. He does, however, vividly remember his promise to Ellen on LV 426. 

If it comes to that, he had said, I'll do us both.

Ellen's face is a mask as she escorts him to medlab, and the hands holding her pulse rifle are steady. Her voice never shakes, her mouth is set. Guilt floods in him to his bones, and he feels undone, overwhelmed. 

Bishop identifies it as the Lacerta Plague, the second unwanted beast to sneak past Ellen's quarantine. (There's more than one contagion in space.) It's a painful strain of influenza to be sure, but curable if caught early; full quarantine restrictions and disinfections must immediately be put into place. 

At the news, Ellen's grip on her rifle loosens. He thinks: she should have shot first, got a medical scan later. He thinks: oh god, I'll follow her anywhere.

-  
A week later, he wakes up in medlab as Bishop's latest cocktail of drugs wears off, and for the second time, hears a conversation not meant for his ears.

Ellen, distant; Bishop, oddly strained:

-He's in good hands.  
-These hands were directly involved in the creation of your nightmares.  
-Just David's hand. And you've put it to good use.  
-Do you miss them?  
-Who?  
-Them.  
-Oh.  
-You were quite a match for her.  
-Was I?

Her fingers stroke idly at his chest, and he opens his eyes to look up at her. There are dark circles under her eyes and her skin is paler than normal. But, he can see that familiar steel shining through her fatigue. 

"Ellen Ripley,” he says, and in a perfect echo of a marine long dead: “The ultimate badass.” 

She rolls her eyes. "Shut up." (Her cheeks slightly pink.)

-  
He’s not at full strength when Bishop discharges him, and could use a little gentleness. Ellen, however, has very little left in her. 

She has him naked and pressed tight to her skin in minutes, and he gasps out as his body aches and arches against her. Firmly keeping him in her grip, she sucks kisses along his neck and chest, marking him with her teeth. “I want to steal you away somewhere safe, where nothing and no one can get to you. I want you safe,” she whispers in his ear, her eyes wild. 

What can he say, but “yes” and other endearments to comfort her? It’s a desperate push and pull, and he gives himself up utterly. By the end, he feels completely consumed by her. 

He cradles her in the aftermath, his skin shining with sweat and his heartbeat racing fast. Ellen’s face is pressed to his neck, so he can’t see her eyes. Her voice is faint, and her breath tickles his skin. “We could find a colony and settle. We could leave all of this.” 

He considers this; wonders what she really means. “Do you want that?” he asks. 

“No,” she says at last. “No, I don’t want that.” She shifts a little in his arms. “What do you want?” 

He wants the company to pay for what they’ve done. He wants the power to destroy all of Ellen’s nightmares. He wants to arm wrestle with his sister again. He wants all of his squad to be alive. He wants to spot Vasquez as she lifts weights, and he wants to hear Hudson plaintively whining about shit again. He wants to tell Bishop that he’s sure, he’s absolutely sure that all artificial persons have souls, and he’s sorry for ever doubting him. He wants to play with Newt on a swing set and bring her hot chocolate every morning and tease her about boys when she grows up. He wants her parents, her brother to be alive again. He wants the 12 billion people on Earth to know about Weyland Yutani’s crimes. 

“I want you to kiss me,” he asks, and she does. 

-  
They’re in the middle of a business trade in the Belt when they hear that all communications from Earth have been shut off after a troubling message about a contagion.

In living memory, Earth has never been this silent before.

Bishop doesn’t wait to be told; he redoubles his efforts at decoding what messages they've been able to access in the network, looking for anything that can confirm the nightmare they all share.

-  
Confirmation arrives 12 hours later. Dwayne can barely read the words.

Bishop pushes away from his console, looks wrecked. “There will be survivors.”

“Not for long.” Newt’s voice rattles them all. She’s the only one of them who really knows what it’s like on the planet right now, in every city, every field, every dark corner of the earth.

Ellen looks off into the stars. “We still have those nukes from the Sulaco.” She twists her hands in her lap.

Dwayne nods, unable to make a sound.

One by one, they spiral in close to Ellen; curling in tight. Newt climbs onto her lap, puts her arms around Ellen’s neck. Dwayne drops to his knees next to them, leans his face against Ellen’s shoulder, breathes deep. Bishop joins, not necessarily needing the tactile touch, but feeling suddenly, nakedly alone.

It’s dead silence for a long time, until someone, someone says:

“It’s the only way to be sure.”

*  
.  
.

*  
The network is dead.

There are no more supply ships from Earth or the Moon or Gateway Station. Even the company’s biomedical unit on Mars is silent, vaporized.

Ellen was thorough.

The colonies are alone now.

-  
They hear a transmission in the dark, a cry for help.

Dwayne looks to Ellen, and she smiles, grim. “We have work to do.”


End file.
